Hero
by starryclimes
Summary: Two years ago Alfred was abandoned by Arthur, a living breathing automan he created through science and alchemy. No one in the village knows what happened to the mad scientist. Matthew Williams decides to buy a house. Unbeknowst to him it is the same house once owned by Alfred. Matthew, extremely shy, discovers his new village is full of things that aren't what they seem.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi All, I really appreciate all your follows and reviews on my stories! This story is America and Canada based, so a little different than my usual. I read this fabulous story by Chirigirl13, and wanted to write a sequel. I recommend before reading my story to go and read her story so it makes more sense. Her story is USUK. And you can read it here at , or here at s/9181691/1/Forsaken. She was super nice and let me write a sequel to her story. So if you like Us/Uk and not Ame/can, check her stuff out!

As you know, Canada is shy. Most people think it is cute and sweet, and it is in a way. But, as a person who has suffered through shyness, it is hard to be shy. Life can be terrifying. I want anyone who reads this who has anxiety or extreme shyness to know that there are people out there who understand how it can be so difficult. Hang in there! Loneliness too can be unbearable. So please, if you are very lonely, and life seems horrible, there _are_ people who do care.

Hero

Chapter 1: In Which Matthew buys a House

The house was perfect. Or that was Matthew Williams' first impression. It was charming and small, with such a good price too. _Slow down, eh_, he thought to himself, as he walked alongside the real estate agent up the concrete path to the door, _you've only seen the outside_. Matthew knew that outside appearances could be very deceiving.

"Well, here we are!" The cheerful real estate agent crowed, her long, dark black hair swinging about as she opened the screen door, and put in the combination to free the key from the lock hooked on the door. Her salmon colored pumps clicked in time to her excitement. "Now, this is a very quaint little place…" She continued on as Matthew entered the entryway.

It was perfect. He admired the cheerful, well-lit kitchen. To the right the living room had built-in bookcases. "It's equipped with all the newest appliances. Certainly the previous owner was in love with technology. He also was a bit of a crafter, so we have built-in work tables and the garages."

"Sey," Matthew just said quietly, so quietly that his agent just continued on about the positives of the place. She finally quieted after seeing Matthew staring at her. She flushed. "Who lived here before?"

She became agitated. "Well, I suppose I have to be honest. He was a bit of a loner, really. People called him a mad scientist." The unheard _and I can't seem to sell this place because of it_ was hidden under the words.

The negative repercussion she was expecting from Matthew was non-existent as Matthew just looked pensive and nodded.

They continued up the stairs, and Matthew was already decorating in his mind. His large screen television with his comfy leather chairs. His ottoman in the shape of a white bear that he had affectionately called Kuma.

She went through all the rooms, and there was a lingering sense of a man the same height as Matthew. Everything had been hung and set to his height. Sey, almost half his size, had to reach to open cupboards and pull the light switch strings. The room to the left of the main bedroom, it would be a guest room, Matthew decided, was more classic and restrained. Its elegance almost wanted him to use it for a study. Going down the hallway, Sey enumerated the difference wonders of the place, and started getting visibly nervous by the end of the hall.

A door sat there, most likely to another bedroom, and Sey said nervously, but in her best sales pitch, "Well, besides the previous owner, the second little glitch to this place is this room. I have the key, but it doesn't unlock." She then promptly tried to turn the key in the lock, her salmon pump braced against the door as she fought to open it.

Panting in the end, and looking at Matthew with a fake smile and a look in her eyes that said, "I just lost this sale again, didn't I?" Sey shrugged and handed over the key as Matthew said, "Let me try."

Matthew was different. He knew it, and he knew the repercussions of that fact. As the key touched his hand, he felt it grow warm and then cold, and innately he knew that it would work again. He handed it back, and Sey blanched as the door swung open. Two years of dust being disturbed rushed at them. Inside was a fully furnished room, the bed lumpy with blankets, and the drapes closed shut.

Sey was almost trembling with fear. "Here," she squeaked, "Um, this must be another bedroom. I'm so sorry about the dust, we can also get this furniture out."

Matthew just stared at the room. There was a presence of something in here. He could tell. What it was, he didn't know. "No. I like how it looks. It's ok, Sey."

She opened her mouth and then closed it. Bravado showing, she continued on to the attic, which still had a few boxes in it. She showed the garage, filled with tables and wonderfully set up hooks and shelves for organizing. It was also heated. Matthew was sold. If he had been sold at the first glance, he was now prepared to do battle to purchase this house.

"I love it. I'll take it."

Sey just stared at him. "Really?" She said weakly. "Um, nothing bothers you about it?"

"I can't believe it's such a low price, for all these cool things it has." Matthew felt his face turning red from being so shy, and it being his reaction to pressure, attention, or confrontation. School in paticular had been nightmarish for this reason.

"Really!" Hope had crept into her voice, and her final, "Really!" was now confident and happy.

Matthew just looked away. Sey was his real estate agent because she never pushed his introverted ways, and let her own type-A do all the talking.

Her eyes glowed with joy, "We'll have this closed and bought from the bank in no time."

* * *

As Matthew moved in he took time to explore the house. The end room, still covered in dust was his first priority. A bit of a clean freak as his mother had said nicely, Matthew was prepared to clean the whole house top to bottom before even emptying his boxes into it.

He entered the room, and he could sense the sadness that lingered. Perhaps it was from a ghost, he wondered, as he peered into the murky dust-laden mirror on the dresser. It didn't seem logical as the sensation was very much alive. He started to clean, and finally got to the bed. He was going to throw out the dusty, hole-ridden blankets, but when he picked them up to do so, he found what was hidden beneath them.

It was a human sized figure made of wood and straw. It was the object giving off the sadness and despair. "Hello." He spoke to the doll.

Its hap hazarded and discarded being reminded him of the porcelain doll he would sneak from his mother's room to play with as a child. His father had finally found out and had forced his mother to buy a display case to lock it in, because no son of his was going to play with dolls. He remembered staring at the doll, head pressed against the glass to look at her, her pretty brown eyes staring sadly back at him, lonely as he felt.

Not much had changed. Matthew was lonely. He had been for so long he didn't remember a different way of being. He empathized with the poor thing laying on the bed. "Hello. I'm Matthew." He touched the wooden arm. To anyone else, he would have looked crazy talking to this strange creature on the bed. To him, it was solace; dolls were meant to be loved, and talked to, and they kept all your secrets.

He continued on cleaning the room, now sanitary enough to not require a mask, and he told the doll about his life, and how he hated being so shy, and how he was going to fix up the house, and he did so until nightfall. Then, before leaving the room, he tucked it back into bed with a fresh blanket.

There was a reason Matthew tried never to judge people. When you have faced the depths of loneliness for as long as he had, see what you consider normal. And Matthew was not 'normal.' He felt half not of this world. His mother had slipped once after she had downed too many margaritas at a girls' night out bash and confessed that his dad wasn't really his dad, and that Matthew was pretty as the fairy people she had met up with the night she conceived him. She later told him that she had been very drunk, and that he must not mention to anyone what she had told him.

Unfortunately, it made sense. Matthew realized people were drawn to him, as if he glowed or glimmered with something that attracted them. Then they would realize how awkward and shy he was, and promptly forget him. He could sense things that were otherworldly. He could make food that people would cry over, it was so heavenly. He was talented at things he had never even practiced at. He, himself, was a freak.

A doll couldn't judge, nor be falsely attracted, or scorn Matthew's slight stuttering when he got worked up, or talk over him. Matthew smiled as he brought in the boxes from the moving van.

* * *

"Ah, hello." The blue-eyed man had been watching him for a while. Matthew had ignored it in the produce section, and now that he was in the dry food, specifically the pasta aisle, the man had found a chance to speak to him.

Matthew turned red, and tried to close himself off by turning a cold shoulder towards the man, "Hi," he said curtly and went back to picking between penne or large penne noodles.

"You look so French. Do you mind if I ask, are you French?" The man seemed excited, and Matthew could pick up the faint traces of an accent in the man's speech.

"No. I speak a little though." Matthew still addressed the boxes in front of him, because then he wouldn't have to make eye contact with the well-dressed man. That much, he could tell, from the Italian shoes that peeped out from well turned up designer wool slacks.

"Ah, I'm Francis." A hand reached out in his peripheral vision, and Matthew flushed harder but turned around.

"Matthew," he said. Francis leaned closer, his blue eyes the color of delphiniums, his silky hair wavy about his shoulder like a shampoo model, smiling, and Matthew realized he hadn't heard him. He cringed internally, and tried to speak louder, something his father had always yelled at him to do, "Matthew Williams."

"Ah, Matthieu!" Francis shook his hand, and covered his hand with his other one. "You must be new about here. Small village and all, we always notice everything." Matthew wondered if this man knew that Matthew was a master at noticing things. He stared at the other hand covering his own as if it was poisonous snake. Francis, as charming as he was, was taken already.

"Yes." He disentangled his hand, and it joined his other hand holding his basket.

Francis continued to follow him, "You know if you ever would like to meet some people around here, I could host a wonderful welcoming party."

Matthew's stomach lurched at the thought. "Thanks," he said softly.

Thoughtfully, Francis just said, "Or maybe a small gathering, just myself and my partner?"

Clutching the shopping basket, the forming sweat making it harder to grasp, Matthew said something, anything, to get away from the confrontation.

Later as he walked home, he realized that he had given away his phone number and had planned on meeting two other people.

Once he had put away his groceries and watered his houseplants, he walked up to the room and spoke to the doll.

"I'm so sorry," he said to the poor thing, the inevitable sadness seeping in the wood. He softly patted the straw on the head. "I am. I don't know what to do. I have to go meet people, and I don't want to." He sat there a bit longer staring at himself in the mirror. His blue eyes, in the dim light turning purple, stared back. To himself, he seemed normal. There were just the few freckles on his nose from summer, his unchanging pale skin looking ghostlike, his strawberry blond hair, waving every which way, and that errant curl poking out the side. How he enchanted people he didn't know.

What he did know, is that he wanted nothing to do with Francis Bonnefoy.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you ****Pseudonymous ghostwriter**** for your review, and to all those who followed this story! I forgot to say last time, everything is Hima's. Please review!**

Chapter 2: In Which Matthew Discovers a Secret

"Oh, hullo. You must be Matthew." The first impression of the man who opened the door was that of large eyebrows, and very green eyes. Rather beautiful green eyes.

"Yes," he stuttered out. He cringed internally, and turned deep red.

"Well, come in. That git of a boyfriend is still in the kitchen. I'm Arthur Kirkland, by the way." The slightly shorter man led him to a beautifully set table, a full tea set out ready to be poured and served.

"Ah, Matthieu," Francis' cheerful handsome face poked out from the kitchen door, "Welcome, bienvenue (1)!"

"Bonjour," Matthew replied in French, and Francis beamed even more.

Arthur just raised one of his impressive eyebrows. He pulled out the chair for his guest and Matthew sat down. His pulse was racing, and he felt lightheaded. What would they talk about? What did he say? He rubbed his sweaty hands against his pants. _Please_, he begged himself internally, _please, no panic attack_.

Arthur didn't seem to notice his internal chaos. He poured out the tea, and as Matthew handed him his host gift, a small bag containing a movie gift certificate, Arthur accepted it and gave him a small smile.

Matthew realized that even though Arthur seemed gruff on the outside, he was being rather kind to Matthew. He slowly prompted some conversation about books and films, and even laughed at a small joke Matthew attempted.

He looked thoughtfully at Matthew, and said, "You remind me of someone. Someone I knew." Arthur flushed slightly, "Not his personality, mind you, but your appearance."

Matthew hadn't received that comment before. He didn't know what to think about a twin doppelganger running around living life and looking just like Matthew but without his shy personality. He probably was living the life Matthew wanted.

Francis came back at that moment, holding a bottle of wine. "What do you think Matthieu?" He showed the bottle. Matthew hadn't had much experience with wines, but knew it wasn't inexpensive. He also didn't miss the look Arthur was giving Francis, or the way Arthur was looking between Francis and Matthew.

Dinner went well; Francis cooked as well as Matthew did. There were some inside jokes between the couple, which caused Arthur to puff up like a cat with its fur rubbed the wrong way. The jokes had to do with Arthur's cooking and horrible attempts at baking.

The only awkward thing, surprisingly, was when they asked where Matthew lived. He described his street and his wonderful little house. There was a heavy silence at this, and Arthur's eyes had shuttered. "Um, the house of the mad scientist, I presume?" Matthew said, seeing how they would respond.

Francis forced a laugh, and said, "Ah, poor Alfred. A little odd, you know."

Arthur just sat there, a wrinkle forming between his scowling eyebrows.

"Although, I do give him credit for introducing Arthur and me," Francis continued on, looking slyly at Arthur.

"He died. Two years ago," was the rough answer from Arthur.

Matthew said, "So you've been together for two years?"

The two looked at each other, and Francis said, "He couldn't keep his eyes off of me."

"What? Frog!" Arthur scowled deeper, but Matthew noticed the two pink dots appearing on Arthur's cheeks.

* * *

Matthew watched the hockey game later that night. It was perfect to relax from the anxiety from the afternoon. He booed madly as his favorite team couldn't get their acts together and got their asses kicked.

All the mean while, he thought about what had happened with his new 'neighbors.' He was growing rather suspicious.

Later that night, he went to the end room. "I have a feeling your name is Alfred." Matthew said to the doll. "I wonder if you were too talented at your work. It happens sometimes that way." He held the fake hand. "I'm so sorry, Alfred."

The deep sadness just continued to permeate the room.

Matthew decided he was going to do some research.

* * *

At first people thought it was odd he was asking about Alfred, but after they realized he had bought the eccentric scientist's old home, they were more than willing to give gossip up as they outwardly pitied the young man duped into buying that horrible place.

Matthew hated putting himself out there, but it was so important to him, he pushed past his internal criticism of his blushing and stuttering, and loss of words. Each thing the villagers told him made it more and more obvious what had happened.

Whispers of horrible experiments.

A complete and utter shunning of the scientist.

Malicious venomous wrath towards a man who had been so, so lonely.

It seemed cruel and unjust.

Matthew wanted to cry. He was like that. He loved too much, his mother had warned him. All this empathy and sympathy and love for people and no outlet for it. His father had just punished him after finding him crying over dead birds who had fallen out of their nests, the old man next door dying from cancer, and even over a pair of old socks too torn to wear anymore.

"I'm sorry Alfred," Matthew said, "You must have been so lonely. I don't blame you."

* * *

Then there were the phone calls from Francis that Matthew started worrying about. Invitations out to places, sometimes with Arthur, sometimes without. Matthew declined them. Finally giving in one time, he realized that he was a third wheel and Arthur was perturbed that Matthew was there. It was after all, a British Film Festival, followed by a fancy dinner out.

Why Matthew was invited he didn't know, but Arthur was too much of a gentleman to ask him to leave. He sat there and stared at the flickered candle behind the frosted glass on the table, as Francis tried to persuade him to try this thing or that. The look Arthur was giving his significant other was so potent with rage, Matthew didn't even need to look to see it, he could feel it.

So, he always declined in the future. He was happy by himself. Or used to it. Whatever it was, he made food for himself, and painted his walls, and decorated the rooms, and set up his shop in the garage.

* * *

Climbing into the attic with his first storage box, he noted the old boxes in the weak light streaming through the outside window. Musty and faded, they weren't that old at all, really. He picked one up and instantly regretted it. The dust exploded, and he was instantly sniffing and tearing up, and coughing. The box had burst open when he dropped it due to his allergy attack, and papers were scattering everywhere.

Matthew went to pick them up. Their contents were intriguing. Pictures of internal mechanisms. Of soul transfer. Of electricity, of strings, and a design of a human body. The final page he picked up made him gasp. It was Arthur. Or a likeness of Arthur. Matthew would have seen it as such, but for the fact that instead of just being signed by the artist, there were chicken scratch notes all about the features. How to make the features work, Matthew realized as he tried to decipher the handwriting.

His blood froze. It came as an eureka experience, except it caused him to sit gasping rather than running around the neighborhood naked, as his mind raced over the possibility. He had always wondered why Arthur had seemed so different than others. It was barely noticeable, but Matthew thought he had a different aura around him. Now it made sense.

"You created him, didn't you?" Matthew said to the doll, the wooden limbs lying there in that sad way, skewed and deserted. "You must have loved him very much, Alfred?" Matthew sighed, "He didn't love you back, did he?"

The horror of the room was even more noticeable.

"I'm so sorry Alfred. So sorry." He kissed the doll where his forehead would have been. "There's nothing I can do," Matthew said hopelessly, "I can open doors, and enchant people, but I am not you, I'm not a genius. I am so sorry."

* * *

It was to Matthew's surprise that Arthur was the next person to call him. "I thought we could get together for tea," said Arthur casually, "Francis is out of town on business."

"Sure," Matthew had said, even though he didn't want to socialize. He was going to ask Arthur questions about Alfred.

* * *

Taking a biscuit from the tray Arthur proffered to him, he realized he wasn't going to get to ask any questions. Arthur was absolutely pensive and seemed so despondent as he rambled on about his relationship with Francis.

"He is infatuated with someone else, that damned idiot. I no longer keep his interest." Arthur scowled, and Matthew could sense his deep distress.

"But enough about me, Matthew," Arthur continued, and Matthew suddenly felt like he was at a University lecture, where the professor was 'making conversation' but actually lecturing. "Do you have Faerie blood in you?"

Matthew almost dropped his teacup.

Arthur smirked. "I have done my research. I studied a long time over mythology and Faerie tales, and I wondered why you always seemed to attract people to you."

Matthew just nodded, his throat closed up in dismay, and tried to swallow his biscuit with a too dry throat.

Pleased, Arthur continued, "I was wondering, what can you do? Can you do magic?"

Closing his eyes, Matthew still couldn't speak.

"I've tried. You know, the simple stuff. Francis laughs it off, and after being told at the beginning of my life that there was no such thing as magic, I knew I was right!"

Matthew, trembling, sipped his tea. _I am just normal_, he thought in his head, _I just do simple things, without trying, they just happen_. He wanted to tell Arthur that, and finally, he opened his mouth when Arthur said something that made him stop.

"I was wondering. Is there a way that I could make Francis only want me? I mean, just be interested in taking care of me?" Here, Arthur had started blushing, and gave a rough cough to try to cover up his lack of gruffness. Matthew just stared at Arthur.

It tingled. The innate sense inside whispered to him. He knew he could give Arthur exactly what he wanted.

Calmed down, his voice and eyes steady, he gazed at the pleading green eyes of the Englishman and said, "Yes."

**(1) Welcome**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Warning: Angst in this chapter! Everything is hima's. **

Chapter 3:

In which Matthew uses his Magic

Matthew sat there on the bed for a long time. He couldn't find the words. This doll, Alfred, had been his comfort in this new village filled with terrifying new experiences every day. He had totally betrayed him. Matthew put his hands over his eyes. The wind outside wuthered against the panes making them rattle.

"I'm sorry, Alfred," was his start, "So sorry." Matthew just felt the lump in his throat grow. "But you see, I had to save you."

It made no sense to the doll, he knew.

He closed his eyes and replayed in his mind what had happened.

_"Are you sure Matthew? You are sure that it will happen?"_

_ "Yes," he had said. "I promise. You will get everything you want. Are you sure this is truly what you want?"_

_ Arthur's gruff reply was, "I do."_

_"Then it is done. I wish you all the best."_

_ "Wait!" Arthur called after him, "Do you want payment?"_

_ He had just turned and looked kindly at the short green-eyed man, "Your friendship has been enough."_

He stifled a sob.

The doll lay there abandoned.

There is no action without an equal or similar reaction. Matthew knew this. He fled to the garage where his hockey gear was hanging from a hook. The night was filled with ice, and cold, and Lighting drills that made his stomach lurch and made his mind not think.

* * *

"Ah Matthieu. I am sorry to bother you. But I was wondering if you would come over. Arthur is feeling under the weather, and I think he needs company."

"I do not you, sodding bastard," came the yell from the background.

"Well, yes, if you could come, Arthur would appreciate it."

Matthew sat by Arthur's bed. Francis was all comfort and solace towards Arthur- he clicked his tongue at his partner's refusal of his favorite meal, and at the way Arthur grew upset at Francis' plumping up the pillows. It was like flirting in a way, a brutal kindergarten-style flirting, that was filled with torment and pain, that Matthew watched happen between his two friends. As much as Arthur protested, and Francis gleefully continued on, Arthur's cheeks would be pink with emotion, and Francis would always trying to sneak in kisses.

Later, when Arthur had finally, like cranky child, conceded to a nap, did Francis speak to Matthew, "I do not know. The doctors cannot find anything wrong, but his joints hurt. I am trying my best. My pauvre lapin (1)." Francis' eyes were not on Matthew but the closed door.

"Let me know if you need any help," Matthew said, feeling like Judas.

"Of course, of course, but now, do you mind as we should be quiet and let him sleep?"

Matthew left as Francis was implying politely.

When he got home, he said good-bye to Alfred. "I'm sorry. It will be lonely in here again. But it's for the best. I maybe will see you again, maybe not." He closed the door behind him, leaving Alfred in the dark room.

* * *

"Matthew." It was Arthur over the phone. "You need to come here." There was a demand in his voice, one that was not to be denied.

As he came into the house, he saw Arthur sitting in the chair by the tea table. They were visible now. The strings and wires hung from his joints. Only Francis didn't seem to see them, he was bringing out a huge birthday cake. "For my rosbif (2)." He teased Arthur and pecked his cheek. "Are you comfortable? Do you want anything at all, ma puce (3)?"

"Matthew's here," was Arthur's curt reply.

"Ah, bonjour Matthieu." Francis barely flickered his eyes over to look at the young man. "Now, Arthur, I have made this to go parfaitment with the lavender earl grey tea I bought. See, it is the kind, special, you wished for."

"You didn't have to," Arthur grumped.

"Of course I did, mon amour."

Arthur's cheeks were pink.

When Francis left though, he hissed at Matthew like a feral cat, "I didn't mean this! You bastard! Who cares if he only loves me if I'm like this!" He was gesturing at the wires and cables.

Matthew saw the gears clicking and whirring as Arthur tried to move, but he could not get up.

"You!"

Francis rushed into the room. "Ah, non, non, non! Arthur, you must rest. Remember, the doctor said so." Francis fussed as Arthur continued to stare bleakly at Matthew.

Matthew couldn't think of anything to say, so he fell onto his rote phrase, "I'm sorry." _But it's making everything you wanted come true_, he thought.

* * *

Matthew stood in front of the closed door. He pressed his face against it. Touching the wood reverently, he then bent over to tie his shoe. The crack under the door only showed weak light, and there was no motion within.

As he baked éclairs that night, dozens and dozens, too many to eat, he ignored the revulsion churning his stomach. Sometimes in these things, everyone was the loser. Alfred might be forever in darkness, Arthur may be drained of life force with every ounce of love bestowed on him, and Matthew, Matthew would sit in the void of loneliness and observe the world happening around him without ever being part of it.

* * *

There was a call, though, a month later, something he never thought he would hear. Francis' voice was monotone and strained, "Matthieu, Arthur died last night."

Matthew sat down on Kuma. He put his face between his knees and tried to take deep breaths. He focused on breathing, in and out, in and out, as Francis said starting to break down, "It would mean…a lot, if you could come over, I…I am inconsolable, je ne sais pas (4). Arthur…"

"Yeah, sure, Francis. I'm so sorry," he heard himself say.

Arthur was only straw and wood, tied together with cord and wire, but Francis did not see it. Most people did not. Magic was that way; no one wanted to believe what they really saw. Matthew touched the wood, but it was empty, hollow. Arthur had truly passed onto the next world.

There were plans for the funeral and wake, and would did they do a wake since Francis was the one who was Catholic?…On and on, and as Matthew walked home in the wee hours of the morning his heart hurt too much to think about anything.

He crawled into his own bed. He hadn't even checked the room down the end of the hall. He couldn't bear it. Setting his alarm to go off in four hours, he felt into a deep sleep from his fatigue.

**A/N: Francis loves his pet names. :)**

**(1) My poor rabbit**

**(2) roast beef**

**(3) my flea**

**(4) inconsolable, I don't know...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I just want to thank everyone for all the reviews and follows! And a huge thank you to a person who is the loveliest of the lovely, my beta Raya, who I adore. Enjoy! Review! warnings: strong profanity in this chapter.**

Chapter 4: In which Matthew gets in an accidental fight, and Alfred wakes up.

Alfred woke up to the smell of pancakes. Or something like them, he hadn't eaten pancakes in forever, his stomach growled. The light in the room was way too bright though, and so he laid there and waited. Hours seemed to go by as he practiced twitching his toes and hands, and slowly trying to open his eyes without being blinded.

Arthur! It came back to him in a rush. There had been so much darkness, and Arthur had left him. His heart hurt as he lay there. He finally slowly opened his eyes, to see the curtains drawn across the windows. The room was darkened. He sat up and saw that it was clean.

Almost too clean. He never cleaned like this. His heart leapt, perhaps Arthur had come back?

Then his mind spoke _Arthur could never cook._

Alfred just turned his head and let a tear roll down into his pillow.

Curiosity got the most of him after his pity-party. He swung his legs up over the bed, and it felt so good to be able to move, to hear, to taste. It was overwhelming. He could hear the birds chirping outside, he could taste in the air the lemon cleaner used on the wood floor, and he stretched.

* * *

Walking down the hall, he noticed it had been painted a bright cheery yellow and decorated with pictures.

The wooden steps had been polished to a sheen, and on a wide ledge edging along the top of the staircases sat shiny trophies, all hockey trophies.

Befuddled, he walked down the steps and turned around the newly revamped living room. The walls were covered with books, none of them Arthur's. Cushy leather chairs, and a cool looking bear ottoman were in front of a huge large screen TV.

There was the sound of items clattering in the kitchen, and he followed the wonderful smell. There was a stranger in the kitchen. Alfred just stared at the back of the man pouring batter into the hot griddle on the stove.

Wavy long hair, down to the man's shoulders was blond with a red tinge at the ends, and it shimmered and shone in the summer morning's light. An errant curl was defying gravity. Alfred smirked, reaching up to touch his own defiant cowlick on the front of his bangs. The man startled realizing he wasn't by himself.

He held up a wooden spoon as weapon, and Alfred realized in one moment this could be one of the villagers who had bought his house and would revile him. Bright lavender blue eyes met his own, their beautiful color hidden behind glasses. They were confused, and then turned warm. The young man lowered the spoon. "You must be Alfred, eh?"

The man's voice was very soft, and sweet, like maple syrup. A flush had gathered on the young man's neck and rose into his face. He turned his eyes away from the direct contact.

"Yeah, um, why are you in my kitchen?" _Jeez, Alfred, you sound so freaking defensive._

The young man twisted nervously, wiping his hands on his apron (which was so damn cute, Alfred realized, though it was strange he was noticing). "Um, I can tell you. I'm Matthew by the way."

Matthew suddenly jumped at the sizzling noise on the griddle, and gave a yelp. Twisting off the knobs of the stove, he looked at the ruined pancake in a sort of disbelief. "I never do that,." Matthew said, with a bit of awe in his voice.

Alfred just leaned against one of the solid oak chairs, everything was upside-down. How many years had it been? He didn't believe in Fairy tales, but for all he knew he could have been sleeping like Van Winkle. Arthur was not here, and instead there was Matthew with his bright red ear tips trying to scrape the pancake off.

"Um," the young man turned to Alfred and said, "If you want to get dressed, there are clothes laying out for you on ironing board."

Alfred looked down at himself and realized he was stark naked.

* * *

"Here you go." Alfred watched Matthew set a plate stacked with fresh pancakes in front of him. Butter oozed from between each layer. He could feel his mouth watering. Literally.

"So, where's Arthur?" Alfred got straight to the point as he started to pour maple syrup (the real stuff!) on his pancakes.

Matthew blushed again, and still was twisting his apron as he sat across the table from Alfred. He was staring at his plate like the copious amount of syrup pooling about was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Alfred just looked around, noting the kitchen's new paint job, and the small little details that came with Matthew's stuff. A Canadian flag magnet on the fridge accompanied by the village's skating rink's schedule and fees held up by fun little animal magnets, like a polar bear and beaver. "Man, you did so much to this place! I really like it!" Alfred said as he continued eating.

Matthew had turned a deeper shade of scarlet and took some deep breaths. Alfred wondered if he was maybe having a food allergy. Finally, a soft reply of, "I-I-I knew Arthur."

Alfred stopped suddenly and stared. "Yeah." He tried to be casual, but his heart still hurt. He couldn't forget how many things had gone wrong. "Um, he's a great guy."

"Yes, he was."

Then it hit him, the past tense Matthew had just stuttered out.

Guilt was in the pleading lavender eyes that met Alfred's, "He died yesterday."

Alfred's mind was working overtime; everything seemed to be clicking into place. He had woken up exactly a day after Arthur died. This Matthew guy knew about the whole story of Alfred, and he was definitely looking guilty. Rage was filling him. His cheerful demeanor didn't mean that people could push him around, and right now he was ready to explode.

"He had a request that—," was all Matthew could say when the sound of a chair scraping, table screeching, interrupted and Alfred hit him with the impact of a seasoned football player.

"You bastard!" Alfred was yelling straight in Matt's face and he had him pinned to the floor. "You fucking bastard, you fucking killed him!"

What? Matthew's mind was whirling, his hands were being held down and his leg had twisted a bit, but he hadn't hit the edge of the counter, thank god, when he had been attacked. Years of hockey experience were fighting their way to the surface and with a huge shove, Alfred was pushed off of him.

Grappling with each other, really no room for fists to punch, they kicked at and tried to head butt each other. "Fuck." Matt ground his teeth. He had met his match, as Alfred smacked him straight into the solid oak table edge and pain instantly shot up his back.

Smashing Alfred into the fridge, magnets scattering everywhere, Matt continued to slam into him, until Alfred grabbed him and pushed him off, falling to the floor. They lay there gasping. Alfred had Matt's hoodie collar wrapped in his fists, and Matt had his hand pushing Alfred's head backwards. Breathing hard, Matt said coldly, now angry and pissed, "I didn't kill Arthur. He was my friend." As he said it, he realized it was only partially true.

"What happened to him then?" Alfred said. His blue eyes were hard and cold.

"You made him, eh? You were his creator?" Matthew felt the adrenaline slowly fading, and the pain in his back throbbed.

Alfred's eyes were conflicted. "Yeah, man, I was. He was mine."

"But he didn't want you," Matthew said slowly.

Fists tightened in Matt's hoodie, and the inventor's face was scrunched somewhat in pain. Were those tears dripping down Alfred's face? Matthew took his hand away from Alfred's forehead and dropped it to the floor.

He sighed. "He wanted someone else."

"I didn't notice." Alfred's voice was pained.

"And your invention didn't work as you planned. The same lifeforce you gave to Arthur sucked yours out."

Alfred's eyes were now open wide, astonished, and their blue color was intense, like the summer sky. Matt's heart flipped a bit, but he ignored it. That stuff never worked out.

"I found your alchemy notes," Matt explained to Alfred. "They were in the attic."

Outside the window, birds were chirping, and one of the neighbors began mowing his lawn in the distance."

"Can you, eh, let me up?"

"Ah, yeah," Alfred sat up, straddling Matt, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head.

Matt flushed at the position they were in. Turning his head, so he didn't have to look at Alfred's red-rimmed eyes that were so beautiful even after crying, he contemplated the small beaver magnet that had flown under the edge of the counter.

"Hey," Matt looked up to see Alfred extending his hand to help Matt up. He grabbed it, and pulled himself up, wincing at the stabbing pain in his back.

"Sorry." Alfred looked like a little child caught stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar. "Sorry about your back."

"Sorry about your, um," Matt said, looking at Alfred's bruised cheek, "I'm sorry, too."

"Man, why are you apologizing," Alfred laughed, "I'm the one that attacked you! Sheesh."

Matt just gave a little smile, "I guess I'm just used to saying it."

"Well, from now on, I won't accept it. No saying 'sorry.'"

Just staring at the inventor as he bent over to pick up chairs, Matt noticed Alfred's well-defined ass showing through the too tight jeans. My jeans, Matt thought with a unusual sudden pleasure of seeing Alfred in something that was his.

"Alright," Matt said softly.

The plates had skidded from their fight, but miraculously were still on the table. Teetering defiantly, one plate balanced itself half off the edge, and hadn't fallen.

Sitting down again to eat breakfast, Matt heard Alfred say pleased, "And damn, you make good pancakes."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Happy Mom's Day! **

Chapter 5:

"So it was Francis," Alfred said sadly, his hair drooping as he lowered his head again, trying not to cry.

Matt's big lavender eyes, his glasses askew and bent from when Alfred had grabbed at his face, were sympathetic. They were really actually blue, but in the light, or maybe from the color he was wearing, they had an Elizabeth Taylor effect, turning them this gorgeous purple. Alfred realized that he would have never thought of inventing a color like that. It was more beautiful than he could imagine.

Francis. It all made sense. Alfred heart burned. Trying to be the bigger man in the situation he said, "Well, I guess you can't make someone love you. Arthur said that." His throat caught at the mention of Arthur.

Matt just shrugged. "It's true. Even Arthur felt that fear of someone you love leaving you."

Alfred just shook his head. It was a lot to take in. "But he wanted it? Right?" He pleaded with Matt.

Matt's eyes were now staring beyond Alfred. "Yes. I asked him, and he did. He got his wish too, all the way to the end." Matt stood up suddenly and started clearing the table.

Alfred tilted his head to watch him gracefully pick up the camping themed table set. Matthew seemed to have some sort of aura of beauty. Alfred could only compare it to that feeling one got when they finished a proof, or equation, or experiment and it worked. That elation, that satisfaction, and beauty of it all.

"You're beautiful, you know." It had just slipped out, and Alfred flushed; he could never stop his mouth from making stupid comments.

Matthew didn't turn, but his ears burned. "Thanks. I get that a lot."

"Really?" Alfred was curious.

"I have a glow to me."

"A glow?" Alfred stared harder, hoping to see Matt glow.

"Um, it has to do with magic."

"Haha," Alfred laughed. "No, man, that's silly. I was talking about how you moved, and stuff." And those damn beautiful eyes, he finished internally.

* * *

"Oh," Matt said, turning on the tap. He had run out of things to say. He wasn't used to having someone always around, wanting to talk to him.

Alfred didn't seem to mind, he was whistling cheerfully, and seemed at a loss too.

* * *

They watched movies that night. As Alfred still had a break-up mentality, and with Matthew grieving Arthur's death, they chose dramas that both had them bawling tears by the end of the night. (Manly tears, alright? Manly tears.)

Matthew had whipped out some ice cream, and even though he wasn't hungry, Alfred was. Alfred single-handedly downed it all during the movie night.

Bedtime was awkward though. Alfred started towards the bedroom that Matt used. And they bumped into each other as they went to the same doorway.

"Uh," Matt just stood there.

"Oh," Alfred said with a laugh, "I guess I should sleep in the guest bedroom. Or I'm also used to sleeping in Arthur's room." He looked strained, but asked, "Can I see Arthur's room?"

"Yeah." Matt gestured to the room next door. Alfred saw that it had been converted into an office. "Take your time."

As Alfred entered the room, Matt realized that Alfred had no belongings anymore and he had a guest in the house. He went to the washroom to pull out a second toothbrush, and more towels. What if Alfred hated him living in his house, what if Alfred didn't like the redecorating? What if? His head was spinning and his stomach cramping.

Alfred was still in Arthur's room when Matt went to bed. He called softly into the office, "I made up the guest bedroom. There's stuff for you in the washroom."

There was no response, so Matt crawled into bed, and tried to close his eyes. Everything had worked. He had never imagined a future where it would. Now what? He thought with a growing bubble of tension inside. Worry filled his head, but in that strange bubble lurked a deep happiness. He was no longer alone.

* * *

"Matt?" Alfred called out into the deserted hallway. Everything was silent, so Matthew must have gone to bed. Maybe Down the hall, the door of the bedroom where he had woken up was still open. It was eerie, looking down into the dark gloom, and he shuddered for some reason.

He then looked the other way, that the other bedroom door down the hall to the right of Matthew's was open, and a kitchy little door handle decoration cross-stitched 'goodnight' was hanging on it. There was a faint light, and going down that way, he saw a small lamp on the nightstand was on, and the corner of the blankets on the bed was turned up. His stomach sort of got a strange cramp. He was so used to taking care of things; it was odd to have someone else do it for him.

He went into the bathroom, and saw the red toothbrush lying out, still in the package, with options of toothpaste, and blue and red towels stacked on top of the counter. He smiled, his grin seeming genuine in the mirror.

_Arthur is gone, it feels so surreal. He was here, and now he is gone. I never got to say good-bye_, Alfred thought, opening the toothbrush. If the container was thrown a little too hard into the wastebasket no one seemed to notice.

Alfred put down the toilet seat and sat down heavily. Leaning over, toothbrush still in his hand, he just let the tears roll down his face.

* * *

"Hey." Alfred's voice from the kitchen doorway made Matthew jump. "Yeah…" Standing there half dressed, his skin tanned, his musculature well defined, and obviously come from the shower, Alfred was resting his head on his arm leaning against the doorjamb. It was scenes like these (the nude one yesterday especially) that made Matt's mouth go dry and his heart race. His stutter wouldn't go away and his mind and mouth couldn't connect to form two words. Who knew that the life size doll upstairs would turn into a sex god of a scientist, who was nerdy, and awkward sometimes, sometimes behaved like a child, and who was so perfect? Matthew could only swallow and nod at the man's nonchalant greeting.

"When's Arthur's funeral?"

Matthew felt his grief rise to the forefront. "Um, Friday." He twisted the drying towel between his hands. It was hand embroidered, something Arthur had made for his birthday, with his favorite hockey team's logo. He stared at the tiny, lovely stitches.

"I shouldn't go, I suppose." There was a deep bitterness in Alfred's voice.

Matt couldn't look up. He rubbed the red threads. "Yeah, I suppose, eh? You might upset the villagers. They think you're dead."

There was no response.

"Sorry." Matthew said into the air softly.

The only sounds he heard were footsteps slowly moving away, steps creaking as Alfred climbed up the stairs. "Sorry," Matthew whispered again. He never knew what to say, or do. How did one live normally? Interaction wasn't his strong suit.

_Just ignore them__,_ Arthur had told him. _People are idiots, just ignore them and be yourself_. Simple advice, so hard to actually accomplish. And Matthew wasn't sure if he wanted to ignore Alfred.

So he followed the retreating man upstairs.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the delay on this update. I've gotten my first real full-time, career job, and it's amazing, but I have no set time to write anymore and been having major Writer's Block. I really appreciate all the reviews, favorites, and follows for this story. Please check out Hetafan13's story Forsaken to see the beginning of this story. This chapter deals with things that happened in her fantastic short story. Character's may seem OOC. Everything's Hima's.

* * *

Alfred was trying not to cry. He was sitting in the room, on the bed where he had been abandoned, and somewhere deep in his heart lurked a worrisome feeling. The feeling was anger. Alfred didn't want to acknowledge it. It wasn't like him to angst over things-his life would have been fraught with a deep anger and bitterness if that was the case. Nevertheless, the anger grew deep within his heart. Who could leave someone to die? Or not even die, but to lie in darkness eternal? Why would Arthur do that to him? At least he hadn't buried Alfred. Alfred shuddered at that. That thought was too much like the horror films he hated.

"Can I come in?" It was Matt's soft voice at the open door. It was odd having someone so different now in his house. Arthur had been brusque and distant, but Matt was homey and quiet. So quiet, that Alfred suspected Matt was as lonely as Alfred had been. Somehow the deep loneliness wasn't gnawing at him anymore, even knowing Arthur was gone.

Alfred nodded, and felt the bed pull downward as the man sat next to him. Matt's socking feet were by his own, and Alfred noticed that they had the same sized feet. The urge to poke Matt's foot with his own came to him. Smilingly foolishly he tried to ignore the blushing that came to his face.

Matthew's hand came up, and then slowly rested on Alfred's shoulder. "Hey. We can talk about things, if you want."

"Like what?" He looked into Matt's flushing face, those lavender eyes glancing away as soon as Alfred stared at him.

"Like the fact that Arthur's gone."

Pain rose in Alfred's heart. Quickly a numbness covered the feeling that seemed like he was bleeding internally. Alfred let the matter-of-fact, analytical scientific side take over. "He had to go. If my life source came back to me, then that would take it from him." It was matter of fact, science. It was bothersome though, the thought of Arthur always in darkness, like Alfred had been left in. "He's still in the wood though." Alfred said pained, swallowing the anger beginning to rise again.

"He was completely gone when Francis called me. I could tell."

Alfred just shook his head.

Matthew's jaw set, and a stubborn look came over his usual serene face. It was cute. Alfred mentally kicked himself. He couldn't go falling in love again. It just hurt. There was no worth in it. "Yes. He was gone. I could tell. Just like I could tell that the blocks of wood tied with cable and wire were alive in this room."

Alfred cringed at the mention of his doll-like form. "How? That's not possible."

"Magic."

Laughter poured through Alfred's lips, and if it was filled with a bit of bitterness and cruelty, he didn't care. "Pfft. Magic." He mocked. The first time Arthur had learned of magic, he had been enthralled. He wanted to know more and more about magic and the faerie world, and magically creatures. He had watched all the Harry Potter films, read fantasy books, and tried to convince Alfred that he had seen a unicorn once. It hurt. Alfred didn't want to remember this. The dim glowing coal of anger burned below the layer of hurt. Magic. Ha. He thought bitterly.

He looked up to see two hurt blue eyes staring at him. Under them were bright red cheeks like a stop sign, and trembling, resting on top of a pair of indigo skinny jeans were Matt's hands. "Whatever Alfred." The words were harsh. "Whatever you say, mad scientist." Ouch, that struck Alfred like a dart. He had turned Matt against him just like the villagers. "Do you think that what I am, and what I can do is just fake? That I saved you because I know how to turn wood into flesh? That I can read your gibberish science math phrases and reverse the equations? Do I look like I have a degree in Microbiology and Chemistry?" His voice was rising higher and higher. Alfred shrank away from the rant.

Oh, said Alfred's brain finally. This was what Matt looked like when he was mad. The Canadian's eyes were now blazing as much as his skin was. "I told you everything! I talked to you when you were all alone in this room! And I could feel that you were sad and trapped, and I wanted to help! Fuck you! You're just like everyone else!" At that Matt just stood up and Alfred waited for a fist to fly or something, but instead Matthew gave one last glare and stormed out the door and down the steps.

It was reversed, Alfred realized suddenly. Instead of the villagers calling Alfred a freak, Alfred had called Matthew a freak.

He fell over sideways into the bed in defeat. The strangest thought was in his head. All he wanted to do was kiss Matthew. Kiss Matt and make him better. He shut his eyes. He was the one who was supposed to fix things, be the hero, and win the day. It seemed like instead everything he touched fell apart instead, but one couldn't give up.

Ergh. Alfred thought, as the anger simmered, the hurt grew, and the strange flutter in his stomach at the thought of Matt's red trembling lips lingered on.


End file.
